In which there is much confusion
by frigo
Summary: Potter and Malfoy, Potter and Draco, Harry and Malfoy, Harry and Draco. Post-Hogwarts slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey there, folks. Here's a little something I've been working on for the past few days. Don't really know what it is, don't really know where it's going, but I've missed the HP fandom something fierce, and felt that I had to write this. Here is the first instalment.

* * *

When Harry got into work, he had an email waiting for him.

Potter,

You've got to stop leaving your bank password just lying around. Borrowed a couple of thousand pounds to go to Spain - the weather is lovely this time of year, or so they say. Do try and get laid while I'm away.

Toodle pip,

DM

"Fucker," Harry cursed, "What an absolute fucker."

Ron poked his head around the door.

"You say something?"

"Yes, I bloody well did," Harry replied, fingering the button hole of his Saville Row jacket irritably, "The poncy git has gone and bloody well hacked into my bank account again! He stole 'a couple of thousand pounds' so that he could go to Spain just in time for the winter."

Ron arranged his face into one of suitable disbelief.

"Bloody hell," he commented unconvincingly, "What an absolute fucker."

Harry looked up from the email suspiciously, clearing his throat. Ron returned the look helplessly.

"Well," he said guiltily, "It's not exactly old news is it? Malfoy annoying the hell out of you, I mean."

* * *

Harry was just settling down to porn and a good wank when his doorbell rang.

"Fuck," he muttered, scrambling to pull up his trousers, spray some cologne, and shut the lid of his laptop. He was out of breath when he opened the door.

"Hullo," Malfoy said cheerfully, pausing briefly to give Harry the once over before barging straight past him and into the living room. Where Harry's laptop was sitting innocently on the couch. Ah.

There was an awkward pause as Harry groped around for something to say.

"I thought you were in Spain," he lamely decided on, strategically positioning himself behind the recliner so that his erection wasn't so obvious.

Malfoy hummed absently, eyes darting from Harry's face to the laptop to Harry's face again. He did look ever so good in that trench.

"Well?" Harry asked somewhat desperately, shifting uncomfortably. Malfoy smirked suddenly.

"I was," he said, peeling off the trench and - dear god - rolling up his shirt sleeves slowly, "Thanks for the donation."

"Now, look here, Malfoy," Harry began, but was cut off as Malfoy started to undo the top buttons of his shirt seductively.

"Harry," Malfoy said in a slow, curious voice, "What were you doing before I arrived?"

"Nothing," Harry said, a little too quickly to be believable. Malfoy's eyes flicked to Harry's face. Then they flicked back to the laptop.

"Malfoy, don't," Harry managed, before Malfoy had the screen open and the video playing. Grunts and moans, which sounded obscene to Harry now, filled the room. Malfoy looked delighted.

"Up the arse, Harry?" he said, watching the video intently, "I never knew."

Harry, meanwhile, was frozen in mortification in his position behind the recliner. He watched in utter embarrassment as Malfoy began to palm himself through his trousers.

"What are you doing?" Harry squeaked, but Malfoy just smiled at him lazily.

"I bet you're hard," he said in a low voice, "You've been hard since you opened the door, haven't you?"

Harry said nothing. He couldn't stop his eyes from drifting to Malfoy's lap, where he was palming himself with increasing intensity. Malfoy followed his gaze, and smirked once more. And then he got up.

"Oh, no," Harry managed, as Malfoy advanced with a predatory gleam in his eye.

"Why ever not?" Malfoy asked innocently, "You've been gagging for it practically since we first met."

Harry spluttered unattractively.

"What?" he exclaimed, "We were about eight years old!"

Malfoy shrugged, an action that somehow also involved his shirt being removed from his body. Harry felt the wall behind him - he was trapped.

"It's harmless, Harry," Malfoy purred as his hands began roaming beneath Harry's shirt, "And much better than jerking off by yourself. Just think of me as a catalyst to your pleasure."

* * *

Harry learnt a lot of things that night: namely, that Malfoy was very flexible. It wasn't until 11 the next morning that Malfoy awoke. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the swirling eddies of snow fall.

"Good God," Malfoy croaked, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, "Is that you, Potter? I can't see a thing."

Harry said nothing. Malfoy got up and left the room, returning moments later with a pair of glasses on and a cigarette packet in hand. He wasn't wearing any clothes.

"Huh," he said as he climbed back under the covers, lighting a cigarette absently, "I can't believe I actually slept with you."

Silence.

"I was terribly drunk last night," Malfoy continued lightly. Harry turned to him in surprise.

"Were you really?" he asked, reaching out for Malfoy's cigarette. It was given to him with a scowl.

"Honestly, Potter, bumming cigarettes? How utterly vile," Malfoy muttered, lighting another for himself. "Yes, I apparated straight from Don Juan's birthday do."

Harry frowned. He wasn't sure which question to ask first.

"OK, then," he said, "Who is Don Juan, why did you come straight here, and would you have slept with me had you been sober?"

Malfoy blinked at him in surprise.

"Harry," he said gently, "You know the answer to all three of those questions."

"Enlighten me," Harry said. Malfoy sighed.

"Yes, I would have slept with you had I been sober, I came straight here because I was horny and you're easy, and Don Juan used to work in sales."

Harry shook his head.

"I think I'd remember if I knew anybody called Don Juan, Malfoy," Harry said pointedly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"You went to his farewell party. You even made a speech."

Harry thought for a moment, but nothing came up.

"Huh," he said, wondering at the complexities of life. Then, something else clicked.

"Hey, I'm not easy!" he exclaimed.

"Harry, you're as easy as Cho Chang," Malfoy said, leaning forward to pat Harry on the back condescendingly. Harry retaliated by placing his cold feet on the insides of Malfoy's thighs. Malfoy yelped.

"Merlin, Potter!" he exclaimed, "It's not like you didn't get your chance to fuck her."

A beat.

"You did fuck her, didn't you?"

Harry could do nothing but stare at the ground embarrassedly.

"Oh, come on, Potter," Malfoy said disbelievingly, "Everyone thought you were some sort of sex genius to get her away from Diggory like that."

"I was young, OK?" Harry snapped, "And probably confused about my sexuality."

Malfoy scoffed.

"So you tried to clarify things by securing the easiest girl in the school and _not_ fucking her," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, piss off," Harry said tiredly. There was a pause where both men drew on their cigarettes thoughtfully.

"How easy was she, then?"

Malfoy smirked, and placed his hands behind his head.

"Put it this way," Malfoy drawled around his cigarette, "There was a booking service."

Harry stared at him disbelievingly.

"No way."

Malfoy nodded.

"You remember her friend Marie, or whatever, the one who got cursed?" Malfoy asked. Harry nodded. "Well, it was all very informal, you see. If it was a Monday, Thursday or Sunday and you felt like a quick blow job, you went up to Marie or whatever and asked her what her plans were for the rest of the night. If she said 'oh, nothing really', then you knew that Cho was free and you could work from there. But if she said 'I've got lots of homework, actually', you knew that Cho was with someone. Fridays were pre-booked, naturally."

"So she was working as a _prostitute_, then," Harry said, not believing his ears, "You're having me on."

Malfoy smiled wanly.

"Just ask any of the Gryffindors," he said, putting out his cigarette in Harry's coffee cup, "Except for Weasley, of course. And Longbottom. And Thomas. Actually, now I think about it, it was only that Finnegan chap who had the balls to do it. Did you have any fun at all being a Gryffindor, Harry?"

"No," Harry answered truthfully, "Not really."

Malfoy gave him a long, blank look.

"Right then," he said after a while, jumping out of bed and dressing quickly, "Must be off. It's been lovely to chat with you. And to have your cock up my arse, and all that."

"What -" Harry started confusedly, but was cut off by Malfoy giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"I'll see you at work. Tata."

Then he apparated. And Harry was left with come-stained sheets and a lot of things to think about.

* * *

Harry didn't see Malfoy at work that week, mainly because Malfoy was in Ireland on an assignment and thus wasn't in the office. It seemed that the murder case he had been working on for months was coming to an explosive and dangerous end. Harry didn't know the details.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked over her plate of yakisoba, "You seem a bit spaced out."

Harry drank the dribble of sake given to him in his thimble-sized cup, and debated whether or not he should tell her.

"Just tell me," she said suddenly, putting her chopsticks down, "I won't tell Ronald."

So Harry took a deep breath, and told her.

Hermione said nothing, but patted the corners of her mouth delicately with a napkin and signaled for the bill. There was an awkward silence as the waiter took away their plates.

"So, what are you going to do?" Hermione asked suddenly. Harry looked at her in surprise.

"What on earth do you mean?" he asked sharply.

"I mean, are you interested in him?" she said exasperatedly, "Are you going to ask him out?"

"This is Malfoy we're talking about, isn't it?" Harry said weakly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So what? He's not the same Malfoy we knew at school. He's a very successful, if slightly insane auror who happens to be very gay. And interested in you. At the very least, you should pursue it as a casual thing."

Harry started at her incredulously.

"What?" she asked, shrugging, "I'm just pointing out your options."

* * *

It wasn't until the following week, as Harry was brushing his teeth, that he remembered Malfoy owed him several thousand pounds.

"Bloody _fuck_," he exclaimed angrily around his toothbrush.

Tracking down Malfoy's address was easy enough. Harry was surprised to find that Malfoy was living in the rather indie suburb of Shoreditch, as opposed to North Kensington as he had expected. In the end, it was close to midnight before Harry knocked on his front door. Malfoy answered in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else.

"Harry," he said, squinting into the darkness, "Lovely to see you, but may I ask what the fuck?"

"Can I come in, please?" Harry asked tightly, rubbing his hands together. Malfoy frowned.

"Er, I'd rather you didn't," he started, but Harry wasn't in the mood.

"Fuck off, Malfoy, and let me in," he said, glaring menacingly. Malfoy sighed, and stepped aside.

"If you must," he said wearily, closing the door and leading Harry into a kitchen/living area, "But don't say I didn't warn you.

Harry _definitely_ wasn't in the mood for Malfoy's games.

"Whatever," he said, waving absently, "Listen, you owe me money. I want it back, and I also want you to promise that you'll never 'investigate' my bank account again."

Malfoy pouted dramatically and sidled up to Harry.

"Does that mean I'm not allowed to 'investigate' you anymore, as well?"

Harry moved away.

"What? No. Wait - ah! Don't change the subject, Malfoy."

"I'm not changing the subject," Malfoy said, shrugging innocently, "I'm merely clarifying certain points _within_ the subject that confused me."

"Look, I don't care!" Harry said, exasperated, "Just give me my money back."

"God," Malfoy said, frowning, "You are in a bad mood tonight. Fine, I'll have your money to you by morning."

Harry looked at him expectantly. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"And I promise never to investigate your bank account ever again."

"Thank you," Harry said, feeling rather proud of himself.

"Oh, don't look so smug," Malfoy snapped, pouring himself a drink from the cabinet in the corner of the room, "I would have given it back eventually."

"Yes, well, I always knew that you cared deep, deep down, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically, plonking himself down on the sofa unceremoniously. Malfoy looked at him strangely.

"Um, planning on staying the night?" he asked.

"Well, the least you could do is offer me a drink," Harry said slowly. He was in the middle of pulling his jacket off when he noticed Malfoy looking uncomfortably behind him to a door that must have been the bedroom. It was also at that point that he noticed a second glass already on the table, as well as a purple mobile that almost certainly didn't belong to Malfoy. Harry got up with a start.

"Oh, god," he said, pulling his jacket back on and looking at Malfoy incredulously, "There's someone here, isn't there? In your bedroom, right now. I can't believe you even let me in."

"I didn't let you in, Potter!" Malfoy snapped, suddenly angry, "You barged your way in, ignoring my warnings, and demanded money from me, if I recall."

"You could have at least warned me!" Harry exclaimed, feeling his temper also flare.

"Didn't you listen to a word I just said?" Malfoy hissed back, his voice rising noticeably, "I tried to stop you, and you decided to -"

"Draco?" a man's voice called from the bedroom. Malfoy froze almost comically. Harry forgot to laugh.

"Whatever," Harry said, holding his palms up, "Get back to your one night stand. I don't even care." With that, he turned on his heel and walked down the hallway.

"Oh, Harry, you are a fool," he heard Malfoy say behind him, but he apparated away before he had the chance to say something he regretted.

* * *

For the rest of the week, Harry went about his business with a permanent thunder cloud over his head. On the one hand, he was angry with Malfoy for sleeping with another guy. On the other hand, he was angry with himself for being angry in the first place. What should he care who Malfoy was sleeping with? It made no difference to Harry's life.

But what confused Harry even further were the intense, long looks that Malfoy was sending him seemingly whenever they were in the same room. Whenever Harry went to lunch at the cafe below headquarters, he would feel a familiar set of eyes lock on to him immediately, so that Harry would shift uncomfortably. It didn't seem to help that he was trying to avoid Malfoy at all costs. His mind was constantly replaying the events of a few weeks ago, when Malfoy had returned from Spain. After the initial horror, everything had seemed so easy, so natural - especially the morning after. Which was exactly what Harry wanted. Hermione was right - a casual thing would be a good way of relieving some o the sexual tension that had been building up.

Thus, it was total relief to Harry when he got an owl from Malfoy on Friday afternoon inviting him over to dinner that night. At least, he thought, it wouldn't take any effort on his part. After dressing carefully but casually, he apparated to Malfoy's flat and knocked on the door.

"Harry," Malfoy greeted him when he opened the door, smoothly accepting Harry's bottle of wine and herding him into the living room, "Sit down." Harry did so, taking the drink offered to him and sipping it slowly.

"I'm afraid I just have a few more things to do in the kitchen," Malfoy said, pushing an errant strand of hair out of his eye and moving into the kitchen, which overlooked the living room.

The sound of chopping soon filled the air. Harry got up momentarily and started wandering around the room, examining photos and CDs with interest. He and Malfoy fell into a pleasant cadence of small talk and work chat. Soon, Harry found himself leaning casually on the kitchen counter, watching as Malfoy moved dexterously around the room. It was during a momentary lapse in conversation that Harry had the balls to bring up their last encounter.

"Look, Malfoy," he said, putting his glass down. Malfoy looked at him curiously. "I'm sorry about the way I acted the other night. Barging into your place in the middle of the night, and acting like a complete arse...It was just uncalled for."

Malfoy stopped stirring and turned to face him.

"I'm not going to lie and say it didn't piss me off, because it did," he said bluntly, "But honestly, if I can get you into bed again, I couldn't care less about how you act."

Strangely, surprisingly even, Harry found that as soon as Malfoy had made his intentions clear, the slight tension that had been present since he had arrived dissipated. It was like having two really, really good desserts in front of him: he knew that the second one was there for the taking, but he was enjoying the first one so much that the other could wait. Thus, he and Malfoy settled down to a superb curry and sparkling conversation - Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable in someone else's presence.

After the plates had been levitated into the kitchen, Harry was given a very full glass of rosé and told to sit on the sofa. He watched absently as Malfoy rummaged around in the cabinet drawer for a while, before finally pulling out a stack of photos and coming to sit next to Harry.

"Cho Chang, funnily enough, was the person we were pursuing in Ireland," Malfoy said softly, flicking through the batch of photos and pulling a few out, "I can't tell you the details, obviously, but when we were searching her flat, I came across all these old photos from Hogwarts."

Harry, more confused than anything, accepted the proffered photographs. There were a few of Cho and her friends, happy and youthful, a few of Cho and Cedric, one even of Dumbledore addressing the school. The last one, however, was a photo of the four Quidditch seekers of their school generation. Cho, her shiny ponytail glinting in the sunlight, stood behind Harry, and kept sending looks of appraisal when she thought he wasn't looking. Photo Harry, having noticed the attention, was blushing furiously, and in turn was unaware of the glares that photo Malfoy was sending him.

"I heard that your assignment was a success," Harry said carefully, his eyes following the shiny swish of Cho's hair, "What happened to her?"

Malfoy said nothing for a while. Then -

"She...she's dead, Harry."

Harry felt nothing at the news - that part of him had died a long time ago.

"I see," Harry said. Malfoy took the photo out of his hand and looked at it.

"I was so jealous, you know," he murmured, "I was jealous of Cho because she had been accepted into your little club. She got to spend time with you, talk with you...kiss you. I spent most of our fifth year trying to lure her away from you. I figured if I wasn't allowed to be your friend, then neither was she. I was very foolish, at school."

Harry took the photo from Malfoy's hands gently and placed it on the coffee table.

"We all were, Malfoy," he said, "Me included. Me especially."

Malfoy sent him one of his long, intense looks, where it seemed to Harry as though his deepest desires and fantasies were being judged.

"I still have the scar, you know," Malfoy murmured, unbuttoning his shirt slowly to reveal a pale, toned chest, marred only by a faint line running from his chin to his naval. It formed the shape of an 'S'.

Harry swallowed, and stared at the scar, overcome with the sudden urge to touch it. Malfoy, as if reading his thoughts, picked up Harry's hand and guided it to where the scar began. From there, Harry traced the 'S' pattern softly with his fingers, down and up again. Malfoy's eyes slid closed as Harry's hand moved away from the scar and simply began to touch.

Malfoy said nothing during the whole process, so Harry, suddenly feeling foolish, went to pull his hand away. Malfoy's eyes shot open, and he moved his hand suddenly so that it was pinning Harry's to the warm skin just below his nipple. Without warning, Malfoy's other hand slid into Harry's hair, and Malfoy kissed him, open-mouthed and utterly vulnerable. Harry slid his hand inside Malfoy's shirt and around his waist, pulling Malfoy closer so that he could get a better angle.

They pulled apart a while later to catch their breath.

"I've been a proper gentleman the entire night," Malfoy panted, pulling Harry's shirt off, "And I'm totally sick of it."

Harry chuckled.

"No more Mr Nice Guy, then? he said.

Malfoy pulled a face and pinched Harry's nipple.

"Very funny," he said, extracting himself from Harry's grip and getting off the sofa, "Now shut up and get into the bedroom."

The trip from the living room to the bedroom was long and interrupted, but eventually Harry found himself being shoved roughly onto Malfoy's obscenely large bed.

"I'm going to fuck you tonight," Malfoy murmured in Harry's ear, his breath making Harry shiver pleasantly, "Then we're going to sleep. And then I'm going to fuck you again. All right?"

Harry's answer came in the form of a moan as Malfoy's clever hands found their way into his trousers and started to lightly trace Harry's hardening dick.

"Good," Malfoy said, "Very good."

* * *

True to his word, Harry was woken at some ungodly hour of the morning by Malfoy's tongue. He couldn't think of a nicer way of starting the day.

"Good - mmm - morning," he murmured, dragging an hand through Malfoy's blonde locks. Malfoy looked up from his position between Harry's legs.

"I was wondering when you would wake up," Malfoy commented lightly, his breath fanning onto Harry's thoroughly abused dick. Harry squirmed.

"Do you ever think about anything other than sex?" Harry asked, unable to draw his eyes away from his own dick disappearing into Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy looked up again and smiled.

"Not really. Now," he said, pointing at Harry's crotch, "Do you mind...?"

"Mmm, please," Harry replied, settling back onto the pillows comfortably.

* * *

An appropriate amount of time later, Harry was showered and dressed and eating a truly delicious meal of scrambled eggs and toast.

"God, Malfoy," he managed to say around his mouthful, "How on earth did you get eggs to taste so _good_?"

Malfoy beamed at him delightedly.

"You do know how to compliment a man," he said, taking a sip of his very black coffee.

"You mean a Malfoy," Harry replied, waving his fork pointedly.

"I think it's just me, actually," Malfoy replied lightly, "My father definitely didn't hold any love for you."

There was an odd silence as Malfoy looked into his coffee cup interestedly and Harry tried to think of an appropriate response.

"You can say that again," he settled for.

"I'd rather not," Malfoy replied tightly, getting up and clearing the plates, "I try and avoid speaking of my father as much as possible."

Ah. Wrong answer, then.

"Malfoy..." Harry said, getting up and following him into the kitchen.

"Can't you even call me by my name?" Malfoy snapped suddenly, throwing the mug he was holding violently into the sink, where it shattered loudly.

A beat.

"Draco," Harry said. He reached out to touch Malfoy's shoulder, but Malfoy dodged him.

"Sorry," he said quickly, not meeting Harry's eyes, "Thinking about my father...It gets me quite wound up. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, really," Harry said, feeling quite bewildered by Malfoy's sudden mood swing.

"I think it's best if you go now," Malfoy continued, eyes still staring out of the kitchen window fixedly.

"OK, whatever you want," Harry replied, going to the living room to collect his coat. Malfoy followed him down the hallway to the front door, where he turned to face Harry awkwardly.

"Look, Draco," Harry said, stressing Malfoy's name, "I enjoyed myself. A lot. So I just want to say thank you."

Malfoy smiled weakly at him, and allowed Harry to press a chaste kiss onto his cheek.

"I'll see you next week, then," Harry said.

Malfoy nodded slightly, the strange expression on his face staying with Harry long after he had apparated home.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Yay!

* * *

Malfoy didn't come into work on Monday. Harry at first assumed that he had been sent off on an assignment, but then one of Malfoy's partners Miranda almost knocked him over in the hallway on Wednesday.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," she said distractedly, scrambling to pick up all the files that Harry had dropped.

"It's fine, really," Harry replied, bending down to help her. "Listen, I hope you don't mind me asking...but, if you're here, then where's Malfoy?"

Miranda stared at him like he had just told her that her favourite pet rabbit had been killed. Then she burst into tears.

"Jesus," Harry said in surprise, "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

Miranda shook her head and waved her hand simultaneously, apparently too overcome to speak. So Harry ushered her into his office, and offered her a drink from his secret third draw stash. She accepted it gratefully. Presently, she calmed down a bit, and was able to explain.

"Oh, Harry," she said, looking up at him with her big, brown eyes, "Draco's barricaded himself into his apartment. He won't see anyone - he's been holed up in there since Saturday."

"How do you know he's there if you can't get in?" Harry asked, the first question that popped into his mind. Miranda took a tissue from out of her pocket and dabbed at her running mascara.

"He comes out every so often to buy more alcohol," she said, sniffing, "He looks absolutely terrible. I don't know what to do. Apparently he's done this before, but we've tried absolutely everything. He won't even tell us why he's there in the first place, it's like he doesn't trust us, or, or..."

Then she burst into tears again, and ran from the room, leaving Harry wondering

a) how on earth she was made an auror, and

b) what on earth he should do about Malfoy (because he had a sneaking suspicion that it was his fault).

Ron popped his head around the door.

"What was that about, then?" he asked, coming in and helping himself to Harry's scotch, "You been sleeping around again?"

"No, Ron," Harry sighed, "Malfoy's barricaded himself in his apartment and he won't let anyone see him. Miranda was just...worried for the welfare of the team."

"Huh," Ron said, joining Harry at the window.

There was a pause.

"So, why was she telling you about it?"

Harry longed for the days when things just went straight over Ron's head.

"Because, Ron, it might be my fault. And that's all I'm saying."

"Huh," Ron said again, "Poor old Malfoy."

To which Harry just groaned, picked up his things, and left the office.

* * *

Harry arrived at Malfoy's apartment armed to the teeth with ammunition. In his left hand were bags filled with the finest wines and whiskeys he could find, and in his right were bags filled chocolate, caviar, olives and crisps in equal measures.

He set his bags down, and knocked loudly on the door.

"Draco?" he called, "It's me, Harry. I want you to let me in."

There was no response, but Harry had expected that. So Harry surreptitiously transfigured himself a chair, and settled in for the long haul. There was a handy spell he had found in an old textbook that knocked on any door three times, in 15 second intervals. Harry cast the spell.

"I'm just going to let you know that I'm not leaving until you open the door," Harry said loudly over the knocking noises, "And I'm also going to let you know that I have lots and lots of very expensive bottles of wine here, which, unless you let me in, are going to be drunk by me."

Still no response. But Harry was nothing if not stubborn.

"Fine," he said, "Be that way. I'm just going to sit here, outside your door, drinking this delicious wine, and looking absolutely mad. Oh, and I'm also going to tell you about my day."

* * *

A few hours later, and Harry was quite possible drunk, and almost certainly freezing. The knocking spell had warn off. At some point, telling Draco about his day had become telling Draco about his week, and then his month, and then the past ten years. He told Draco, as well as a few passers by on the street, about all his ex girlfriends and boyfriends, about all the people he'd ever fancied, all the people he'd ever fucked, and all the people who'd ever rejected him. He was just about to launch into an explanation of he and Ron's tit rating scheme when he heard a not-so-familiar voice behind him.

"Potter? Harry Potter?"

Harry turned to see an extremely stylish woman standing on the steps.

"I don't believe it," the woman said, taking off her black sunglasses (protecting her eyes from what sun? where?) and pulling off her black leather gloves. She was smiling delightedly, if a little dangerously, and she had short, dark hair.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" she said, continuing up the steps and inspecting the empty bottles littered around Harry's chair, "You always did have an awful memory for people."

"Wait," Harry said suddenly, squinting up at the woman's somewhat pug-like face, "You're Tulip, or something. Poppy. No, Petunia! No, that's not right. I've got it! Begonia."

"Not quite, Potter," she said, frowning slightly, "Pansy. I'm Pansy Parkinson."

Harry waved a hand absently.

"That was my next guess," he muttered. Pansy watched him intently for a few moments, as if psyching herself up for Harry's next movement. Then she turned and knocked on the door impatiently.

"Draco," she said in a loud, strong voice, "Draco, it's Pansy. I know you can hear me. If you don't open this door right now, I swear I will tell your mother all about what happened that summer in Italy. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, darling, so don't pretend."

Harry was in the middle of explaining to her that Draco wouldn't let anybody in when the door opened suddenly and Draco stuck his head out. He did look terrible.

"You," he croaked, pointing to Pansy," In." Pansy turned to stick her tongue out at Harry, and pushed past Draco into the apartment.

You," Draco croaked, pointing to Harry, "Wait here. And for Merlin's sake, stop talking about your sexcapades." The door slammed again.

"Well, at least he was listening," Harry muttered to himself, standing up only slightly wobbly and transfiguring the chair back into a milk bottle.

About ten minutes later, Pansy came out again.

"He's all yours, Potter," she said, "He's in the shower at the moment. Don't talk about his father - or his mother, for that matter - don't give him alcohol, don't give him drugs, and for god sake, _don't_ talk about Voldemort. I'm sure you'll manage."

She gave him a long look over her glasses, her dark eyes betraying absolutely nothing. Then she reached into her black leather bag and pulled out a card.

"My number, Potter," she said, smiling briefly at him, "Call me when you have the chance. It would be nice to catch up."

Then she pushed her glasses back up, fished out her gloves from her coat pocket, and walked away. Harry looked at the card briefly before pocketing it, squaring his shoulders, picking up his bags, and walking into Draco's apartment.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. The second thing, the mess. Sighing, he put his bags down in the kitchen, his coat on the living room chair, and rolled his sleeves up. Then he started cleaning.

First, he opened all the windows he could find, in an attempt to get rid of the musty air in the place. Then, he set about picking up all the empty glasses lying around the place, and putting them in the dishwasher. At one point, while Harry was cleaning the kitchen, Draco came out in a towel expectantly, but Harry just pointed at the bathroom and said, "have another shower, and don't forget to shave this time." Draco pulled a face, but thankfully didn't argue.

Harry was just draining the pasta when Draco emerged a second time, clean and shaven and dressed in what appeared to be very expensive pyjamas. There were still dark rings underneath his eyes, and a pallor to his skin. He eyed the pasta hungrily.

"It's nearly ready," Harry said, trying to calm his nervousness by looking for the cheese, "Why don't you go and sit down? I'll bring it out."

Thankfully, Draco did go and sit down, so Harry didn't have to think of something to say. He eventually found the cheese, prepared the two plates, and brought them out to the living room.

"Thanks," Draco muttered when Harry handed him his plate. Harry took a seat on the opposite couch, and they began to eat in silence. Draco wolfed his plate down, and began eying Harry's as well, so Harry gave him the rest and went without. After Draco had finished, Harry put the plates in the dishwasher, poured two glasses of the finest scotch he could find in the apartment, and gave one to Draco.

"Pansy told me not to give you any alcohol," Harry said, "But I think that's utter bullshit. So you should be thankful that I'm here and not her."

Draco managed a weak smile, but said nothing. There was a silence. Then -

"What did you do in Italy?" Harry blurted out. So much for tactful.

Draco looked up at him in surprise.

"I killed three prostitutes, and then burned down their brothel," he said in a quiet voice, with such a straight face that Harry wasn't sure whether he should believe him or not.

"Really?" Harry asked, because he figured he needed to be sure. Draco chuckled softly.

"No, Harry," he said, swirling his drink around absently. Harry sipped at his own drink.

"Good," he said.

There was another silence. Then Harry bit the bullet.

"If you don't want to talk about...this, at the moment, then that's fine," he said, getting up and moving to sit next to Draco.

"Good," Draco said, downing the rest of his drink and standing up, "Because right now, all I want to do is go to sleep."

Harry put his glass on the table and got up as well, grabbing his coat and bags. There was an awkward moment as he and Draco faced each other.

"Well?" Draco asked, "Are you coming?"

"To bed?" Harry almost squeaked. Draco ran a hand through his hair quickly.

"Look, Harry," Draco said tightly, pulling Harry's things out of his hands and putting them onto the couch, "I couldn't care less about social propriety right now. Just come to bed."

So Harry did. He didn't think about what he was doing as he sat on the edge of Draco's bed, pulling off his shoes and socks and listening to the water running in the bathroom. He didn't think when he let Draco unbutton his shirt, nor when he slid into bed next to Draco. He didn't think about how quickly Draco fell asleep with Harry's arm slung over his stomach. And he definitely didn't think about how nice it was to have someone to take care of again. No, he didn't think about any of those things. Harry just went to sleep.

* * *

Harry woke the next morning to the defeaning sound of his mobile ringing right next to his ear. He sat bolt up right.

"Whozzat?" he mumbled, fumbling around to try and stop the sound. Eventually he found the answer key.

"Hello?" he managed, looking over to find that Draco was no longer in bed.

"Where the fuck are you?"

It was Ron. And it was also 11am on a Thursday morning. And Harry should have been at work.

"I'm...I'm at home," Harry replied, "I'm sick. Tell the boss that I won't be coming in today." Harry coughed violently for effect.

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron said, "You sound awful."

"Yeah, I feel it, too," Harry said through fake coughs.

"Well, I hope you feel better."

"Cheers, mate."

"Bye."

Harry hung up. And then set about trying to find Draco.

After a longer time searching than he expected (it was a small apartment, after all), Harry discovered that the other door near the bedroom didn't actually lead to a spare room, but to a large, comfortable study. Draco was sitting at a large desk in front of a computer, a fire crackling away merrily in the fireplace. He was wearing his glasses, and there was a large coffee mug next to the keyboard.

"Hullo," Draco said as Harry came in, "I was wondering when you would find me. I'm working from home today."

Before Harry could respond, Draco was up out of his chair and had crossed the room, kissing Harry hard on the lips. Then he went and sat down again. Harry blinked.

"What was that?" Harry asked. Draco didn't even turn around, but rather seemed quite absorbed in something on the screen. He waved a hand behind him vaguely.

"I just felt like kissing you, is all," he murmured.

There was a pause.

"Draco, what the fuck?" Harry asked, throwing his hands up in the air. Draco looked at him, surprised.

"What ever do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"I mean, are you going to tell me what's been the matter with you? Or why you've refused to leave your apartment since Saturday? Or maybe even why you decided to only let Pansy Parkinson and _me_ see you?"

Draco sighed and took of his glasses.

"Harry," he said "I want to thank you for last night. For taking care of me, and...so forth. From time to time, I get into very bad moods - these past few days has been one those times. So it was very gracious of you to drop everything and come to look after me, despite the fact that we're...well, we...oh, you know. Despite the fact it's never been straightforward between us."

Harry looked at Draco carefully.

"You didn't answer my question about only letting Pansy and me see you," he said slowly.

Draco smiled suddenly.

"I know it might be hard to believe," he said, getting out of his chair and coming to stand in front of Harry once more, "But I like you. Quite a lot, actually."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"Thank you," he said, "That was definitely one thing I never expected to ever hear from you."

Draco wrinkled his nose affectionately.

"Silly," he murmured, "That's your problem, Harry. You form opinions of people when you first meet them, and never allow them to change."

Harry found he had nothing to say to that.

"Well, I've got some work to catch up on," Draco said, looking at Harry expectantly.

"Oh," Harry said, "I'll be off, then."

Draco smiled, and placed a chaste kiss on Harry's lips.

"Thanks again for last night," he said, going back to the desk and putting his glasses back on, "Oh, and can you shut this door on your way out? Keeps the heat in, you see."

"Sure," Harry said, sending a strange sort of wave to Draco before shutting the study door and going to collect his things.

He apparated home with the lingering sense that he had missed something quite important, but couldn't for the life of him see.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Harry spent increasing amounts of time with Draco. They went out to dinner, they went to the movies, they drank lots of wine together and seemed to fuck almost every other day. Quite frankly, Harry couldn't ever recall wanting to spend so much time with anybody, not even his ex-wife.

One evening, after having been given a leaflet about a play that was on not far from where Draco lived, Harry decided to floo Draco's apartment unannounced to see if the other man would like to go. It was a Thursday evening, so Harry figured that Draco would be around. He threw some floo powder into the fireplace, and spoke Draco's address clearly.

"Draco, I have a leaflet here - oh, my god."

Harry looked up from the leaflet only to see Draco lying naked on the desk in the study, being fucked roughly by a dark-haired man that Harry didn't know. Draco looked at Harry with wide eyes at the sound of his voice, looking utterly mortified. The other man, however, wasn't even interested, and kept thrusting into Draco as Harry watched.

"Harry," Draco said, moving to sit up, but the dark-haired man seemed to be holding him down at his hips. Harry found himself completely frozen.

"Oh, stop that, will you?" Draco snapped, pushing the dark-haired man away, "Harry, listen to me -"

Suddenly, Harry regained movement in his legs. And he apparated on the spot back to his apartment.

"Fuck," he muttered, crinkling the leaflet in his left hand, "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

He picked up the lamp next to the sofa in anger, and was about to throw it against the wall when Draco suddenly appeared in his living room, marginally more dressed.

"Harry, I'm sorry," Draco began, but Harry now had a better target, and he hurled the lamp at Draco. With his seeker reflexes, Draco yelped and dodged the lamp, which shattered into a million pieces on the floor.

"Harry, please -" Draco tried again, but Harry wasn't interested.

"Get out," he said in a low, dangerous voice, "Get the fuck out, right now."

Harry could feel his magic starting to seep out of him, uncontrolled and feeding off his anger. A strong wind began to pick up in the apartment, causing the curtains to flap furiously and the newspaper sitting on the coffee table to blow apart. Draco swallowed almost visibly, but tried to explain himself one last time.

"Please listen to me, Harry!" he cried, over the wind, but Harry didn't want to listen. He pulled out his wand from his back pocket and pointed it straight at Draco.

"I'm not kidding, _Malfoy_," he spat in a barely controlled voice, "I don't want to see you right now."

Draco seemed to get the point, finally, and apparated away just in time. Harry's hex hit the wall behind where Draco had been standing, burning a large hole into it. Harry stood in that position, wand raised and panting heavily, for a few moments, before snarling angrily and going into his bedroom to retrieve his broom.


End file.
